


it's alright, i promise

by OliveYou



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Family, Bittersweet, Family Seventeen, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 21:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10422258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OliveYou/pseuds/OliveYou
Summary: "Minghao was six years old when he tripped and broke his wrist, running with his brothers up the hill, unable to keep up. He cried, then, while Jeonghan carried him all the way to the house, small and scared of the pain.Jeonghan promised to love him."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Things to note  
> -Yes, Jeonghan and Seungcheol adopted eleven children  
> -No, that's not supposed to be realistic  
> -I'm sorry

Minghao is six years old when he trips and breaks his wrist, running with his brothers up the hill, unable to keep up. He cried, then, while Jeonghan carried him all the way to the house, small and scared of the pain.

Jeonghan promises to keep a closer eye on him.

\---

Minghao is nearing his eighth birthday and he’s excited, practically bouncing off the walls waiting for tomorrow. The kids—all eleven of them—are sitting side-by-side on the bench in the doctor’s office, giggling and whispering and waiting their turn. It’s a yearly checkup, and Soonyoung is scared of needles, so Jeonghan sits with him and hold his hand. Seungcheol is gone again—Seokmin asks for him, and Jeonghan regrets quitting his job to watch the kids, making Seungcheol work overtime to scrape together enough money to live on.

The doctor asks for him, and he is not smiling.

Minghao wants a bike for his birthday, and eight candles on his cake.

\---

They sit in the white, sterile room for the fourteenth time in two months, and Seungcheol is nervous. His hands twitch, tapping on his knees, and a man comes in, with a clipboard and a white coat. Everything is white, white, white. Jeonghan wishes this was the last time he must see these white, blank walls.

They both cry that night.

\---

Things change after that.

Minghao is suddenly fragile, something to be handled with care, like glass. He spends his days slowly, giving hugs and kisses, telling everyone he loves them so, so much.

Jeonghan has bad days more frequently now. He will wake up in the morning, cry, and fall back asleep for five minutes before waking again.

Nobody sees Seungcheol anymore. He spends every waking moment in the office, working to pay off so many bills.

Minghao climbs onto his lap when he comes home, and rest follow silently.

The kids have developed some sort of telepathic sense, staying together whenever they can, holding hands and protecting Minghao from everything. Junhui tries to make money dancing on the streets, Mingyu cooks breakfast regularly, and even Chan doesn’t cry much anymore, growing up faster than should be healthy for such a young boy.

Jeonghan never wanted them to grow up like this.

Jeonghan didn’t want any of this, and there are times he feels so, so helpless—times where he tends to break things, leading Joshua to hide the china away, to hide the children away, away from their own father—like he can’t change anything.

It’s those times that Minghao is the first to step forward, to take his hand and tell him it’s alright, tell him to breathe.

They fall asleep in the old rocking chair, Minghao’s head on Jeonghan’s chest, breathing slowly and peacefully, like everything’s okay.

He wishes they could stay that way.

\---

Chemo is brutal.

Minghao wakes up the first night, crying from the pain, and Wonwoo gets to him first. Jeonghan finds them, wrapped in Seokmin’s favorite blanket—Seokmin’s no longer, Minghao’s for as long as he wants it—Wonwoo carding his hands through Minghao’s hair, watching it float softly to the ground.

They line up at the barber’s in a perfectly straight line, and Minghao cries when he finds that Hansol's beautiful, thick hair is no more.

\---

Minghao is ten, thinner and wiser, when the results hit.

Jeonghan didn’t know he could cry more than he already has, but he locks himself in the bathroom and listens to his own sobs echo off the tile. Mingyu—all eleven of them, but Mingyu is the most powerful of them all—pound on the door and beg for him to come out.

Seungcheol almost rips off the doorknob, but Hansol manages to stop him and pick the lock instead.

\---

Seungkwan sings them to sleep, softer than a feather, all piled up on the queen bed that bends and creaks from the weight. Minghao is in the middle, thin arms wrapped around his brothers, head buried in Seungcheol’s chest. The song is bittersweet and speaks of love and family and friendships long past.

Jeonghan, strangely, finds peace in that moment.

\---

Minghao dies quietly five days later, in his sleep, peaceful in death as he was in life.

Jihoon insists on burying him with his entire stash of stuffed animals, favorite pillow, and all—he plays a small, short song at his funeral, so that Minghao won’t be bored by the long speeches.

\---

It is November.

Soonyoung is pursuing a career in dance performance, Jihoon in composing music, and Wonwoo in literature. It is only through many months, weeks, days that Jeonghan has managed to coax Seungcheol away from the computer and into normal life again, spending many slow days just sitting and thinking about life.

Joshua visits twice a week, to check up and things and treat them both to dinner.

Minghao loved strawberry shortcake.

The wind blows, clouds covering the sun, and Jeonghan shivers. The walk isn’t far, but it’s an early winter this year, snow forecasted for next Friday.

Minghao would like that. A blanket of snow to cover him for the winter, and daffodils to sprout in the spring.

Minghao liked winter—liked to see the snowflakes fall, to drink hot chocolate by the fire and listen to Wonwoo read him fairy tales, cuddling up to his side with the others. Jeonghan still has a picture of him, half-asleep, wedged between Soonyoung with his bunny plushies and Seokmin with his yellow knitted blanket.

Joshua set that photo in a frame for him, and Jeonghan tears his gaze away from the curling corners to the short, stout gravestone in front of him.

Minghao loved sweet things, sleeping, and dancing. He wanted to ride his bike down the hill without falling over. He liked to sing in Chinese, old nursery rhymes that only Junhui knew. He loved dogs.

He loved them.

 

_Minghao was six years old when he tripped and broke his wrist, running up the hill, unable to keep up. He cried, then, while Jeonghan carried him all the way to the house, small and scared of the pain._

_Jeonghan promised to love him._

**Author's Note:**

> wow I'm a mess today hah a ha h a a


End file.
